


Downtime

by oldestcharm



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M, Post-Skyfall, Slow Burn, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 08:50:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20255431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldestcharm/pseuds/oldestcharm
Summary: Bond's got a few minor injuries and M's got a brilliant new plan. 007 will have to face the harsh environment of Q Branch.





	Downtime

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thank you to my dearest beta [silentspaces](https://silentspaces.tumblr.com/).
> 
> This whole thing's written mostly to indulge myself and as it happens is laden with various tropes and borderline cliches. No particular posting schedule right now, but I'll finish it eventually, no worries. I've got a fair bit of words done for each chapter. Also, I'll probably add some content to first chapter when it comes time to upload the next one. I'm trying to get out of a rut, so I guess I'm cranking up the heat and dipping my toes in. Feel free to roast me! ;)
> 
> P.S. The rating may change.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I think we would all benefit from a little bit of insight," Mallory says cryptically, eyes alight.  
"Insight," James repeats and narrows his eyes. He has a vague sense of unease that is usually followed by something unexpected and rather unpleasant.

There is a knife embedded in his thigh. It is uncomfortable and yet a relief, seeing as he's managed to lose his Walther somewhere along the line. He knows Q won't be pleased about this, but Q will most likely forgive him for it if he manages to get back to England alive. It's a little late to talk about uninjured, though.

"Quit stalling, Bond, or you'll lose her," Q says crisply, and there's a familiar sound of keys in the background. "She's got the data we need."

"I'm aware," James says, fingers curling around the handle. "Let me get the knife out first."

"Knife? What knife?" Q demands sharply and the typing stops for a moment.

"The one she jammed in my thigh. It's fine, I needed one anyway, since I find myself weaponless at the moment." James prepares himself and just _pulls_. His breath catches slightly as he attempts to stifle a groan at the searing sensation. There is quite a bit of blood, so he unfastens his tie and secures it around his thigh in a poor attempt at damage control.

He doesn't even notice the silence on the other end until—

"What did you do to my gun, Bond?" Q's voice is painfully even as though he's making an effort not to go off on him, but James already knows he won't. Q never shouts; instead, his voice becomes lower and more imposing, and James almost expects to be hit by a tidal wave.

"I had to part with it." There's no point in lying.

Another tense pause.

"There is a room full of armed guards ahead of you," Q says, and he sounds almost detached now. James cannot help the shiver that runs down his spine.

"Well, I'll have to be careful then, won't I?" James says and pulls himself to his feet. He sways a little, the pressure on his leg more intense than he'd anticipated, but manages to catch himself before he topples over.

"Stop. Absolutely not," Q hisses. "Screw the data, Bond, you're more valuable alive."

"And I will be," James agrees, weighing the knife in his hand and shuffling towards the door. He's not as graceful as he'd like, but he makes do. He's had worse injuries in the past, and dwelling on them merely complicates everything.

"007." He sounds positively icy now. James smirks and imagines the ocean. "Stop your pursuit."

James doesn't reply. Instead, he opens the door to the hallway. It's empty, save for the security camera he's fairly certain Q has access to by now, so he makes a point to stare it down before he moves ahead.

"Bond. Pull out. Now," Q demands, but it's a distraction for James. He knows he can do it, he just needs to... _focus_.

"Sorry, Q." He disconnects the earpiece. He can brave the tsunami when he's back in England. Right now, he has a job to do.

*

James wakes up in medical to the familiar white walls and the same old beeping. His whole body aches, and he tries to remember what the fuck he's done this time. Everything's a bit hazy and it takes him an embarrassingly long time to realise he's probably heavily drugged.

His musings are cut short by approaching footsteps, and Moneypenny appears next to him with a clipboard in her hands.

"Awake, are you?" she says, lips twitching as though the sight of James injured is somehow amusing to her.

"Just about." He tries to get to the controls for the bed so he can sit up and have a conversation like a normal human being, but Moneypenny presses it for him. He honestly feels a lot better now that he's not lying down like a dead fish, gaping at the bloody ceiling.

"No one is really expecting you to stick around for long now that you're awake," Moneypenny says, placing the clipboard on his bedside table. "M wants to see you. I hear he has a surprise for you."

"That doesn't sound very promising."

"No, I suppose not, but Tanner and I will be there to console you later."

James looks at her, confused.

"It's Friday." Suddenly it all makes a lot more sense. "Pub night."

"You think I'll make it?" he asks, lips twitching into a smile.

"You'll survive." Moneypenny says with a grin and taps the clipboard. "Post mission report. Fill it in before you go to see M."

"Right," James says and closes his eyes, all humour drained as the exhaustion takes over. The fading footsteps let him know she's gone.

*

When he finally gets out of medical, he doesn't know whether to be pleased or annoyed it had been his left arm caught in the fire. He wonders if it would get him out of doing paperwork. Probably not, if he's to go by previous experiences.

Mallory's on the phone when he enters his office. He glances up at James, eyes trailing down to his injured thigh before he gestures at one of his armchairs. James takes a seat and stares at the painting of the old SIS building. He wonders if the man finds the irony somewhat amusing or if it's just there for the sake of appearances.

"No, this is not negotiable," Mallory says, still standing there just like the first time, except now it is James who has his arm in a sling. "Yes, I'm aware you have a lot on your hands, Q. That's why I thought it might be a good idea."

James tears his gaze away from the painting and eyes Mallory with newly found interest. Disturbingly, it seems like Mallory's having fun. James can almost hear Q's voice grumbling on the other end of the line as Mallory's lips twitch slightly while he glances at James. Oh yes, this is definitely worth his attention.

With some amusement, James imagines Q saying something akin to 'I don't get paid enough for this.' He is caught by surprise when Mallory replies, seemingly, to exactly that.

"We'll see about a raise if you manage this with minimal amount of complaining. Go back to your data, you still have an entire weekend of solitude," Mallory says and hangs up the phone.

James quirks a brow at him. Mallory simply sets down the handset, sinks into his chair and holds out an expectant hand. "Let's see that mission report, then."

James hands it over. Mallory scans over his words, focused. His expression doesn't change the whole time he's reading, and James has to wonder if his report is really that dull. When he finally finishes, he looks amused again.

"Did you enjoy Oslo?" he asks pleasantly, and James sort of wants to point out he got stabbed _and_ shot. Still, this feels like a power play and he'll be damned if he lets Mallory win.

"Somewhat," he says, feigning disinterest and goes for what he thinks is an unsettling smile.

"I see." Mallory reaches for another file. "I've got the comms transcript of your mission."

"Yes?" James prompts.

"You don't say in your report you disconnected the earpiece," Mallory says, eyes sliding over the page. There is another twitch of his lips, like he finds something particularly amusing about it.

"It didn't seem like a relevant piece of information, sir."

There is a tense pause where they stare at one another. The message is quite clear: _everything_ is relevant.

"Q isn't best pleased with you," Mallory says. Strangely, it's the first time the thought occurs to James and it... doesn't quite sit right with him.

"No, I don't suppose he would be," James concedes with a shrug. There's another tense pause where Mallory's eyes seem to bore right through him. James wonders what exactly he sees on his face.

The man relaxes and pulls out yet another file. "I'm sure you are well aware we can't send you out for fieldwork in this condition."

"That much is obvious."

"However, I think we would all benefit from a little bit of insight," Mallory says cryptically, eyes alight.

"Insight," James repeats, and narrows his eyes. He has a vague sense of unease, a feeling that is usually followed by something unexpected and rather unpleasant.

"I'm assigning you to Q Branch for what remains of your recovery," Mallory says with and actual honest-to-god smile on his face. James stares at him in disbelief, wondering whether he's heard him correctly.

"Q Branch. You want to put me in Q Branch," James says, and even to him, he sounds incredulous. He cannot imagine any reason for him to be in Q Branch. Computers and intel aren't exactly his priority.

"Yes, I think it is a rather delightful idea." Mallory says, and hands him the binder he has in front of him. "Q Branch is currently understaffed — as Q himself is ever so fond of reminding me — and this is better than having you run around London with serious injuries and, finding increasingly ridiculous methods of self destruction.

James looks at the top page inside the binder he's just been handed. It needs his signature and Q's. Mallory has already signed it.

"I take it I'm to pass this on to Q?" he asks as Mallory hands him a pen. It looks rather final, then.

"If you would be so kind" Mallory says, and James scribbles his name onto the page. "That's the trouble with separate buildings, isn't it?" he adds, and James glances back at the painting on the wall before returning the pen.

"When do I start?"

"Monday morning. This way, you'll have the entire weekend to relax. I'll have Tanner give you the details," Mallory says and James nods. "You're dismissed."

James stands, barely managing to hold back a wince at the pressure on his leg, a fact that isn't lost on Mallory.

"Sir," James says with an air of finality and turns to go.

As James reaches the door, Mallory's voice calls from behind. "Bond." James pauses. "Please take this as an opportunity to learn. You are a good agent, but you have the potential to be an excellent one." The expression on his face is unreadable.

James blinks, nods, and leaves the room.

Moneypenny is waiting right outside the door. "How'd it go?" she asks, already dressed in her overcoat and seemingly done for the day.

"Bizarre," James admits, because he hasn't quite managed to digest it yet.

"Well then, hold it until dinner," she suggests with a smile. "I'm sure Tanner would want to hear this too."

*

The two of them end up at an Italian place they've been to a couple of times before, neither of them feeling particularly eager to experiment like they often do. They settle in at a corner table and order drinks before Tanner arrives five minutes later.

"Sorry, I'm a bit late, just came from Q Branch," he says and doesn't even bother to hide the pointed look at James.

"Anything fun?" Moneypenny asks teasingly. Both of them seem entirely content pretending they aren't already aware of James' situation.

"Mhm, one of the new boys blew up a prototype. Q was doused in white by the time he managed to put out the fire. It was almost like having old Boothroyd back. Nostalgic," Tanner nods approvingly. James hides his smirk behind the menu.

"What happened to the new guy?" Moneypenny asks curiously and smiles into her wine glass, matching James' grin.

"Oh, Q had plenty of words for him. Apparently he's strictly on paperwork and tea duty until he learns how to handle combustible metals."

"Well, that doesn't sound promising for me," James notes, before deciding on tortellini. "I rather enjoy explosions, and I abhor paperwork."

Moneypenny looks at him with a sort of manic gleam in her eyes. "Did Mallory really assign you to Q Branch?"

"I'm afraid so," James says, but the conversation is put on hold when the waitress comes up to them. They order and she collects their menus, before disappearing once more.

Tanner grins at him. "I'm sure it won't be all bad. I know you haven't had the chance to look around properly, but the new lair is actually quite pleasant and they always seem to be having fun down there."

"I'm sure they are," James agrees and forces half a smile. "But, I fear I've rather upset their boss."

Tanner snorts and exchanges a look with Moneypenny. "That is an understatement."

James leans forward, eyes scanning Tanner's face intently. "What do you know?"

"Didn't Mallory show you the transcript?" Moneypenny asks, cocking her head to the side.

"No, he just said he'd seen it," James says, frowning. He's becoming more and more suspicious by the second. "What's on the transcript?"

"You mean what's on it after you disconnected," Tanner says pointedly. "You might know if you hadn't done it."

James shrugs. "I did what I had to. He wouldn't let me do my job."

"Pot. Kettle," Moneypenny says with a grin. "The swearing was impressive though."

James quirks a brow. "The swearing?"

"Creative," Tanner agrees, nodding. "I've never heard more curse words in my life. And then he finished it by calling you unprofessional."

"I see," James says, the corner of his mouth pulling upwards into a tiny smirk. "I look forward to hearing it in person."

"Don't think he won't," Moneypenny warns him, looking delighted.

The food arrives soon after and the conversation drifts to Moneypenny's new boyfriend and Tanner's kids.

*

He goes home later that night, exhausted to the bone. He still hasn't had the chance to decorate. There are books, paintings, and cardboard boxes on the floor, and he hasn't even bothered with the TV. It's not as though there's much to see on it anyway. He can't quite imagine himself watching Emmerdale or Eastenders. Besides, he's still not sure if he wants to make an effort in the first place, only to have it all sold again the next time he's proclaimed dead. All in all, it's rather pitiful.

James tugs off his coat and heads for the kitchen cabinets, hoping there's salvation in whisky. He pours himself a glass, which he downs in record speed. The bitter taste in his mouth is familiar, welcoming — more than he can say about his flat.

Setting the glass back on the counter, he squints at his shoes, willing the shoelaces to untie themselves. When they don't, he leans against the creaking chair and absently pulls at them until he's free. The feel of the cool kitchen tiles is surprisingly pleasant, and as he pours himself another glass, he considers just standing there for a bit. After a moment of hesitation, he grabs the bottle with him and heads back to the living room.

James crashes on the sofa, bones weary and aching. M's old bulldog stares at him, accusatory.

"I know, I know," James says, scowling back at the thing and sipping his whisky. "It's not like you're any better, you daft old thing."

He sighs. He's talking to a bloody porcelain dog.


End file.
